


Creepiness has its Benefits

by Malkuthe



Series: PJO Dwindling Glory AU's [1]
Category: Original Work, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dwindling Glory, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Nephilim, Showers, Slight homophobic language, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malkuthe/pseuds/Malkuthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Counted among the Nephilim are the angels that fell out of favour with the Heavenly Father during the first Great War and their progeny. While they were not cast down into Hell with Lucifer and his legions, they were not invited back into Highest Heaven either. They possess magic unlike any that either Hell or Heaven know, but many of them live amongst the humans, satisfied to live simple lives with in the midst of the oblivious mortals. When two of these Nephilim, sun and wind, meet, things get rather… <i>steamy</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slippery Slope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Queenie_Mab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_Mab/gifts).



> This one's for you my dear Mab. Happy Birthday! <3\. I do hope you find lots of things to be happy about in the future. You're awesome, and I hope you like this little tribute.

The romance of a lifetime, at least as far as Apollo was concerned, started out in a decidedly _creepy_ fashion. Apollo was two generations removed from the Progenitors, the first angels to be abandoned on earth after the Great War. He was more human in his personality than he was Nephilim, and that simple fact was something he was thankful for.

The truth was that despite their hatred for Heaven, Apollo’s Nephilim ancestors still frowned upon men lusting after other men. They probably would have had something to say about Apollo’s relationship with Zephyrus, but they both lived far away from the Progenitors’ stupid mountain home anyway. Apollo, on the other hand, was more relaxed about the fact that he was gay. Society as a whole, however, was another matter entirely.

On the day that he’d met Zephyrus, Apollo had been feeling rather pleased about his commitment to going to the gym and honing his body, but as soon as he stepped into the showers, completely naked from head to toe, he began to regret that commitment.

A man walked into the room, which was slightly filled with the steam from other patrons showering. Despite that, Apollo almost instantly had to deal with a _hard_ situation. Springing an erection in the gym showers was one thing. It had happened to him more times than he cared, and the worst he’d gotten was a sharp jibe from one of the macho guys—who later propositioned him, for some bizarre reason—about being a ‘fag.’

Now, on the other hand, springing an erection after pointedly looking at another man’s ass, looking almost longingly at the tattooed wings on the other man’s back and tracing the sharp curves of the other man’s body with his eyes, was something else. Something gay, without a doubt.

Apollo _wanted_ to be more forward when it came to romance, but the fact that society frowned on homosexuality had forced him to be more shy about it. Despite his reservations, Apollo found himself walking in the other man’s direction. He did not know what possessed him, but he broke into a run.

Sprinting across the tile floor to slide, inconspicuously into the shower beside the other man was Apollo’s plan. As always, however, his plans went awry. Catastrophically so. Apollo found himself _flying_ across the floor, his feet having lost traction on the wet, slippery tile floor.

A moment later, the breath was knocked out of Apollo when he fell on his ass. Quick thinking was all that saved his head from banging against the floor.

As far as Zephyrus was concerned, on the other hand, his introduction to the man that he would eventually spend the rest of his life with was the sound of skin slapping against a tile floor, followed soon after by a roar of pain and the sound of a bar of soap ricocheting off of one of the shower walls.

Perhaps it was not the best first impression, but Zephyrus had always been a gentle soul. Some part of him compelled him to turn around and help. Not that he was unwilling to do so to begin with.

Zephyrus’ lips parted in a soft gasp. In front of him was one of the most beautiful creatures that he had ever seen. With eyes blue as the sky that he so loved and golden hair much like the sky that he enjoyed preening himself under. The sight was marred by the sizable, rigid pillar of flesh that was jutting out from the man’s groin.

Zephyrus stowed away his soap and shampoo on the little alcove meant for it. He walked over to Apollo, careful not to slip lest he find himself in the same situation minus the erection.

Zephyrus was about to say something when the tattoo emblazoned on Apollo’s chest, a crest of the radiant sun, drew his eye. He smiled. “Ben Nephilim,” he said, fingers tracing over the enchanted ink that was embedded in Apollo’s skin.

From the way that Apollo’s eyes fluttered open and his lips parted in a quiet moan, just barely loud enough for Zephyrus to hear, but definitely too soft for the rest of the men in the showers, there was no doubt for Zephyrus that the man’s erection was for him. Disdain quickly turned to amusement as he allowed his fingers to drift from Apollo’s chest, down to the blond’s abdomen.

Zephyrus could feel the muscles tighten underneath his gentle touch. He could hear Apollo’s breath quickening. He could see Apollo tense like a coiled spring. Zephyrus smirked, plying his soft touch over Apollo’s pubic mound, but drawing his hand away from the quivering stiffness of Apollo’s manhood. “My name is Zephyrus,” he said, moving his fingers tantalizingly close to Apollo’s hardness. “Yours?”

Apollo gulped audibly. Zephyrus could not help but smirk even more. “Apollo,” he said, after struggling to even get the syllables out. Apollo watched as Zephyrus’ eyes glowed briefly and the bar of soap that had slipped from his hand slid over to the two of them.

“You dropped your soap,” said Zephyrus. Zephyrus rose to his feet and walked over to the shower he’d abandoned. He didn’t think Apollo needed his help. After all, Apollo had the blood of the Nephilim. A small slip would not have hurt. Too much.

Apollo lay there on the wet floor, stunned. He could do naught but watch as Zephyrus continued to shower as though nothing had happened. Well, _seemingly_ as though nothing had happened. In truth, Apollo was beginning to suspect that Zephyrus was teasing him.

Zephyrus lathered up his short black hair with shampoo. That in itself was not very notable, but Zephyrus was moving from side to side as he did. His muscles rippled with his motions, and the wings tattooed into his back seemed to come to life. Apollo’s eyes were _riveted_ to the streams of water that flowed down Zephyrus’ back and down the crack of his ass.

Zephyrus took the bar of soap from the alcove. He lathered the bar across his arms and his chest, then surreptitiously dropped it. Normally, Apollo would have rolled his eyes at the artifice of the whole damn thing, but Zephyrus made it seem so natural that Apollo’s breath hitched in his throat when he got a sneak peek at Zephyrus’ perk buttocks framing a tight, pink, hairless pucker.

Apollo’s eyes wandered up for a moment. Zephyrus was looking at him with amusement. The other Nephilim winked at him and turned away so fast that Apollo was left wondering if he had been hallucinating.

Zephyrus distracted Apollo by turning around and making a show of cleaning his groin. Apollo couldn’t help but notice that Zephyrus was about as well-endowed as he was. His eyes followed the movement of the surprisingly-flaccid member.

No one had ever done this for Apollo before. He was so stunned that he had entirely forgotten he was still on the floor of the communal shower room. He was whisked away from his thoughts almost immediately by Zephyrus turning back around and bending over to lather soap over his legs.

Apollo’s cock throbbed between _his_ legs, but the thought of grabbing on and giving himself a couple of strokes never occurred to him. His attention was wholly and solely commanded by Zephyrus.

_Then_ things kicked up a notch. Just when Apollo thought things could not get any hotter in the already hot and steam-filled gym showers, Zephyrus blew him away. Soap slicked fingers traced a trail up Zephyrus’ thigh that enraptured Apollo. He could not take his eyes away from the fingers as they slowly and sensuously glided across Zephyrus’ skin.

Zephyrus’ lips parted in a soft moan that sent a shock of pleasure coursing through Apollo. Zephyrus’ fingers found his tight entrance. Zephyrus kneaded his own most private place, making Apollo’s breath hitch in his throat.

Zephyrus pushed against his pucker insistently, then slipped a finger inside. Apollo groaned in harmony with Zephyrus. Apollo did not think his cock could get any harder, but Zephyrus keened with pleasure and shot a load onto the shower wall.

Apollo’s cock got _harder_.

So caught up was he in his lust that Apollo did not even notice that Zephyrus had turned off the shower and had already walked off wordlessly. Apollo was drawn back to reality by a sharp jab at his back where a man had kicked him and had sneered “fag.”

Suddenly self-conscious about his erection, Apollo covered up, rushed to the shower, and turned it on to its coldest. Despite shivering, thoughts of Zephyrus’ little ‘ _show_ ’ plagued Apollo and nullified whatever benefit he might have hoped to gain from showering in the cold water.

Apollo shook his head and rushed off, not even bothering to take his shampoo and soap. He could buy some more later. He wanted to at least save some of his dignity.

Apollo grabbed his towel from a nearby hook and dried himself off as best he could. He turned the corner to go to his locker and was stopped in his tracks by the sight that greeted him. No doubt Zephyrus had found him by the gym bag that was emblazoned with the very same sun that was on his chest.

Whatever choice words he’d had for Zephyrus melted away on his tongue as soon as he saw toned butt-cheeks framed by a russet-coloured jockstrap. “Oh,” said Zephyrus, with a smirk on his face. “I didn’t see you there. Anyway. I have to go. See you around, sunshine.”

Apollo stood by the bench, stunned for the second time in less than an hour, as Zephyrus walked by and dropped a gold-coloured jockstrap in Apollo’s hands.

Apollo blinked. He had just realized that perhaps this was his one chance to act like he’d always wanted to act. Since Zephyrus seemed to be taking his sweet time leaving Apollo’s lockers to get to his own, Apollo hurriedly put on his jockstrap and blocked Zephyrus’ way.

Apollo winked at Zephyrus. Zephyrus smirked. “What do you mean see me around?” said Apollo. He pinned Zephyrus against the nearest locker and rubbed their groins together. “Don’t you want to…” he said, then turned around and rubbed his ass-crack against Zephyrus’ rapidly-stiffening member. “Give me a taste?”

Zephyrus laughed. Apollo’s heart raced in his chest. “Maybe some other time, sunshine,” he said. He spun Apollo back around and wrapped his arms around Apollo’s waist. He pulled Apollo closer and looked deeply into those beautiful blue eyes. “I really do have to go. I promised Samantha I wouldn’t leave her alone on the sales floor tonight.”

Zephyrus turned the tables on Apollo and pinned the other Nephilim to the locker. “Here,” said Zephyrus, suckling on Apollo’s neck until a hickey formed, “Something to remember me by, sunshine.”

Apollo traced his fingers over the spot and felt the heat rise to his face.

Zephyrus smirked again and tried to hide the blush on his own face. He turned around to leave, but at the last moment, Apollo blurted out, “You could at least give me your number!”

Zephyrus laughed and winked at Apollo. “Don’t have one. Try a scrying bowl.”


	2. Against the Beast

To say that Apollo dressed as quickly as possible would have been an understatement. The clothes, after all, practically flew from his bag onto his body. One thing was for sure: Apollo wanted to find Zephyrus.

The comment about trying to use a Scrying Bowl had stunned Apollo. Zephyrus seemed to have a knack for striking Apollo—and seemingly, Apollo alone—dumb. Unfortunately for Apolo, Zephyrus had managed to escape while he was distracted.

Try as he might, however, Apollo could not find Zephyrus anywhere. He’d looked up and down the rows upon rows of lockers. He’d looked in the showers again on the slim chance that Zephyrus might have tried to actually get a proper shower done. He’d paced around the lobby, trying to find the other Nephilim, but to no avail.

Apollo simply could not imagine how Zephyrus had dressed and left the gym faster than _he_ had. He supposed that being one of the Nephilim, all Zephyrus needed was the motivation to leave really quickly, but Apollo had had the same motivation, if only to find Zephyrus.

Apollo could not honestly decide whether to be offended by his rather hurried abandonment, or concerned. He decided to feel somewhat offended. Zephyrus was a Nephilim, after all. There was probably little cause for alarm, unless a full-fledged Angel of the Lord was nearby.

Apollo left the gym feeling rather dejected. He played with the strap on the gym bag slung across his shoulders as he mused that the only solution to his problem would be to come to the gym regularly in the hopes of bumping into Zephyrus once again. At least something good had resulted from his encounter with the other Nephilim.

Apollo simply couldn’t help but wish that he had gotten _some_ sort of contact information from Zephyrus rather than an enigmatic comment to use a Scrying Bowl.

Apollo shifted the gym bag. The strap was beginning to dig into his shoulder. His flesh was exposed by the pale yellow tank-top he was wearing. To complete his ensemble, he was wearing Bermuda shorts and sandals.

Admittedly, Apollo’s choice of clothing was not only inappropriate for the middle of September, but also for the fact that he was living in Toronto. Thankfully the day’s weather was not particularly harsh. There wasn’t a chill in the air, nor did there seem to be any rain threatening to make Apollo’s day any worse than it already was.

If anything, the day, or at least what was left of it, was downright beautiful. Apollo craned his neck up to the sky, which had been bright and blue when he’d gone into the gym. Now there were streaks of orange racing across the sky, staining clouds and striking skyscrapers.

The sunset was Apollo’s least favourite time of the day. The sunrise was his favourite. Still, not even Apollo could deny that a sunset was one of the most beautiful things that happened daily on the planet earth.

“Hey,” rumbled a deep, gravelly voice from the distance. Apollo paid it little mind, but found that it sounded faintly familiar. He thought that it was not directed at him. “Hey, sunshine,” said the voice. A hint of malice slipped into the words, and Apollo caught his first whiff of something fishy going on.

Apollo turned his nose to the slight draft and realized that he smelled Lycan in the air. Apollo spun around to face his aggressor. It was the man that had kicked him earlier, in the shower. The man that had called him a fag.

Apollo had not gotten a good look at the man in the showers, but now that he did, he noted that the man was built like a truck. To either side of the man’s barrel-chested body were thick arms bulging with muscles. Under a slightly-too-small muscle shirt was what looked like a steel-hard rack of abdominal muscles and solid pectorals.

A buzz-cut, five o’clock shadow, intense green eyes, and a golden-chain necklace with a cross for a pendant completed the man’s look. If the man had not looked so menacing, or, for that matter, had not been a Lycan, Apollo would have found him attractive.

As it was, Apollo was finding it difficult to see past the stench of Angel handiwork. That, and the formidable weapon that the Lycan was holding in his hands.

The Lycan hefted the over-sized wooden bat over his shoulder. Apollo could just barely see the biblical verses inscribed with golden paint on the black-lacquered wood. Apollo had to shake his head. More and more men like this man, most of them mundane humans, were beginning to pop up on the streets of Toronto. The LGBT community had gone mostly silent for fear of physical retaliation.

Only a long history of secular values were keeping Canada as a whole from succumbing to the Theocracy that had overtaken much of the Western world and parts of the Eastern, as well.

Even so, Canada was teetering on the edge. Only the presence of the consolidated might of the last few remaining secularist groups in the world was keeping Canada from spilling over the edge into the gaping chasm of religious fervour and madness that had swallowed the rest of the Americas whole, as well as much of Europe.

“Fucking faggot,” said the man, spitting at his feet. Thankfully, Apollo noted, that the Lycan had yet to pick up on his own distinctive scent. Although, from what Apollo learned from his training among the Nephilim, the tattoos on his skin rendered his scent almost indiscernible.

Apollo took a closer look at the weapon in the Lycan’s hands. He had to decide if he was going to fight this battle or flee from it. For the first time, Apollo noticed the rosary that seemed to have been wrapped around the bat’s handle. For someone that grew up in the early part of the 21st century, seeing religious iconography so blatantly used to facilitate what was sure to become a hate crime was obscene to Apollo.

Fifteen or so years ago, in 2017, it would have been unthinkable for a religious bigot to assault a gay man in a parking lot in broad daylight. Now, it was not only ignored by the police, it was openly endorsed by pastors in many churches. At least, that was the case in Toronto.

Apollo narrowed his eyes at the Lycan. There would be no running from this battle. He knew that even if he tried to run, the Lycan would catch up to him. This was no mundane mortal, after all.

“Let me just tell you something,” said the man, taking one step closer to Apollo, “You fucking disgust me.” Apollo took a step back. He wanted to keep as much distance between himself and his opponent. He did not want to be taken by surprise if and when the Lycan lunged at him.

The Lycan continued walking toward Apollo. Apollo kept moving back. “You fucking fags are abominations,” said the Lycan, growling in an almost-animalistic way. “You’re perversions of the natural order of God. The Bible clearly says so. You make me sick.”

Apollo rolled his eyes. He’d heard the arguments enough times over the years, both from the fundamentalists that had eventually won in the United States, as well as from the Progenitors whom Apollo sincerely suspected had latent homosexual tendencies themselves.

“Yeah, well, your Bible also tells you not to wear clothing of two different fabrics. Guess what, thumper? Cotton and Nylon are two different fabrics.” Apollo’s mockery seemed only to incense the man further. Admittedly, it was probably not the best idea, but Apollo had had enough. Losing Zephyrus had already put him in a bad enough mood, he did not have the patience to tolerate this Lycan.

The Lycan struck out with his bat, but not at Apollo, at one of the nearby cars. Apollo noticed it was marked with an upside-down pink triangle. He looked around quickly and saw many of the other cars were marked in a similar fashion.

“You know what, you filthy cocksucker?” said the Lycan, “If you get down on your knees before me, and let me show you what a real man can do, and then you beg forgiveness from your Lord and Saviour, maybe I’ll reconsider beating you to a pulp.”

“What?” taunted Apollo, “You’ll rape the gay away?” Apollo laughed. The Lycan only turned redder.

“My pastor told us that if we ever see fuckers like you, we should beat them up. Show them what it means to be a true man in the eyes of the Lord. A true man follows the commandments.” Apollo rolled his eyes. “That means killing the faggots.”

Another car’s back window shattered from the force of the Lycan’s blow. “You deserve a fucking one-way ticket to Hell,” said the Lycan. The car they had stopped behind was a sleek-looking red model that Apollo had never seen before. It would have passed as a sports-car, and he would have stopped to admire it if the Lycan had not chosen _then_ to attack. Well, truthfully, Apollo had _goaded_ the Lycan into attacking.

“I’m here to deliver it you to fiery oblivion like you sodomites deserve.” Apollo levelled a bored look at the Lycan. He actually had the audacity to yawn. His refusal to show any fear enraged the Lycan, and the beast surged forward. All two hundred or so pounds of him.

Just as the Lycan reached Apollo, the car rumbled to life. It distracted the Lycan long enough for Apollo to sidestep the attack, and duck to avoid the swing of the bat that followed soon after.

That happened next happened so fast that Apollo could not help but be thankful for his training under the watchful eyes of the Nephilim masters. A kick followed the swing. Apollo deflected it with his palm. The man quoted Leviticus, and Apollo countered with another quote from Leviticus that the man was flagrantly disobeying.

The words were followed by an enraged bellow and a punch that Apollo caught with his hand. He’d been expecting more of a fight, especially against a Lycan such as this one, but compared to the other Nephilim he’d sparred with, this Lycan was pathetically easy.

For a full minute, Apollo and the Lycan traded blows. Neither of them grew tired. Apollo kept blocking or deflecting attacks while the Lycan kept throwing them. One particularly vicious swing of the bat was what ended the fight. Apollo blocked the wood with his wrist, and the bat snapped in half.

One part of the bat flew off into the distance, hitting a car somewhere behind Apollo. A car alarm went off. The Lycan tried to stab Apollo with the splintered remains of his bat, but Apollo grabbed on and used the Lycan’s momentum to spin him around and slam him, head-first, into the back of the nearby, sleek red car.

The glass shattered and the metal crumpled as the man skidded halfway into the car. The Lycan twitched three times before becoming still. A split-second later, every car alarm in the parking lot went off in a shrill cacophony of piercing shrieks.

Apollo winced. He had not meant to cause so much damage. He’d only wanted to knock the Lycan unconscious, not drive him halfway into a car with an occupant.

The driver’s side door of the car opened. A stern-looking, pissed-off Zephyrus stepped out, snatching earphones from his ears. Apollo blinked owlishly at the other Nephilim. The car, that was sleek red, and could have passed as a sports car, was not what he’d expected Zephyrus to be driving.

Truth be told, from the way that Zephyrus had acted, Apollo was beginning to believe himself stupid for thinking as he had. “I’m glad to see your Nephilim training paid off,” said Zephyrus dryly, sniffing in distaste at the Lycan that was now bleeding all over the upholstery of his rear seats.

“But,” said Zephyrus, “I would have appreciated you forgiving me for running off hastily to get to work on time.” Apollo opened his mouth to protest, but Zephyrus was not done. “I would also have appreciated you not driving an idiot zealot Lycan through my rear window and getting blood all over my new leather seats.”

Apollo grimaced. He managed a brief apologetic smile at Zephyrus before the wilting glare made him grimace again. “I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely beginning to regret running the Lycan into Zephyrus’ car and not the one beside it.

“I didn’t mean to,” said Apollo, “I was just…” Apollo scratched his head, trying to look for the right phrase. “I was just in the heat of the moment, I suppose,” he said, looking around. Apollo frowned, alarmed. People were coming out of the gym and staring.

“What are we—” Zephyrus cut Apollo off with the wag of a finger.

“Don’t worry about them.” Zephyrus took a deep breath. He definitely looked rather frazzled. Nevertheless, an eerie sort of calm washed over Zephyrus. Zephyrus raised a single finger and traced seven concentric circles in the air.

Normally, nothing would have happened, but Zephyrus was doing a Working. Where his finger went, a trail of light burned in the air and hung there for a moment. Apollo could _see_ the seven circles. He was pretty sure that the mortals could, as well.

Zephyrus then wrote Hebrew into the circles. Apollo could not follow what Zephyrus was writing. He was reeling from the fact that Zephyrus had the strength to do a seven-circle Working. It was a powerful sigil. _Very_ powerful.

When Zephyrus was done, his eyes glowed and all the patrons that had left the gym to watch the commotion in the parking lot went slack. Their eyes became blank and their arms fell to their sides. Phones dropped. The sound of screens cracking filled the air that had suddenly become eerily quiet, since the car alarms had all died.

As one, the people walked back into the gym as though nothing had happened. “The police will find nothing,” said Zephyrus. He sniffed in disgust. “If they even _try_ to find anything.” Zephyrus thrust out his hand and supported himself on the car. He was feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.

Apollo walked up to Zephyrus and placed his palm on Zephyrus’ forehead. “Are you alright?” said Apollo. There was a twinge of awe in his voice. “I’ve never seen a Working done like that.”

Zephyrus rolled his eyes. “I appreciate the concern, sunshine,” said Zephyrus with a smirk that made Apollo’s cheeks warm. “I’m fine. Just a bit winded.” When Zephyrus finally managed to catch his breath, he pushed past Apollo and grabbed the Lycan’s legs. “Come help me, Apollo,” said Zephyrus, as he pulled to no avail.

Apollo raised an eyebrow at Zephyrus but acquiesced to the other Nephilim’s wishes. Together, they managed to pull the Lycan from the car. The man was still alive, if only barely. Apollo had done quite a number on him. Completely by accident, as well. “A mad dog needs to be put down,” said Zephyrus, gingerly nudging up the man’s shirt with his shoe.

Sure enough, burned onto the man’s chest, right above where his heart would have been, was a sigil. The very same one that granted Lycanthropy. “Let’s hope it hasn’t bred yet,” said Zephyrus, revealing a part of himself that he very rarely did.

Zephyrus liked to think of himself as a gentle spirit, but like many of the Nephilim Progeny, he was also vindictive against Heaven and all its minions. The Lycan was one of those minions.

Zephyrus knew that some Lycans were forced into Lycanthropy against their will, but this particular one was not among those.

The Lycan that was sprawled on the ground at Zephyrus’ feet had willingly taken the curse of Lycanthropy solely so that he could better spread his hatred and bitterness. Zephyrus was fond of humans. He had many friends among them. That someone like this man would willingly betray his own people to follow the commandments of an unquestionably evil deity filled Zephyrus with loathing.

Zephyrus opened the trunk of his car which was in rather ugly condition. He reached in for a bundle about three feet long. Zephyrus pulled at the ropes that held the bundle together and revealed a Celestial Steel blade.

“You’re an active Hunter,” said Apollo, wonder seeping into his voice again.

“Only when the money’s thin,” said Zephyrus, raising the blade above his head. With a single thrust, the Nephilim drove the sword through the Lycan’s chest. Apollo grimaced, hearing the crunch of bone as the Lycan’s ribs broke from the force. “I only accept bounties for the worst Lycans like this one.”

Zephyrus unsheathed the sword from the Lycan’s chest. As soon as the Celestial Steel left the beast’s chest, the sigil on the Lycan glowed white hot and the entire man’s body went up in flames.

“Silver would have broken the curse, you know,” said Apollo, frowning as the body at his feet turned to ash. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

Zephyrus laughed, bitterly. “Believe me. If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t have. I dislike it as much as you do.” Zephyrus spat at the mound of ashes and kicked it, scattering it to the wind. “But,” said Zephyrus, “He’s already killed seventeen young gay men this month alone. I suspected it was him, but I couldn’t get a whiff of Lycan until he went after you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Apollo.

Zephyrus shook his head and retrieved something else from the trunk of the car. It was a small glass phial. The last few droplets of blood still clinging to the Celestial Steel sword dribbled into the phial. “It means,” said Zephyrus, wiping down his weapon, “It means that our Lycan was protected by someone powerful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go. :3. I hope you liked this chapter. Just thought I'd throw in a bit of Zephyrus/Apollo badassery. I also thought I might introduce more of the world in-narrative, because Dwindling Glory has a really rich setting. (I should honestly stop glorifying my own work).
> 
> In any case, just a brief explanation of the magic thing. Magic in this world is incredibly difficult to work. Spells are called Sigils and the act of spellcasting is called a Working. Normally, a human mage would have to draw the Sigil on some sort of medium and fuel said Sigil with energy to create a Working. Celestial Beings(e.g. Angels), those with Pacts with Angels, and those with Celestial blood, are capable of drawing Sigils directly onto the fabric of reality, and that's what Zephyrus does in this chapter.
> 
> Aaanyway, leave a kudos if you like the story so far, and comment if you'd like! I'd love to read your thoughts. <3\. You can also follow me on Tumblr at [Malkuthe Highwind](http://malkuthehighwind.tumblr.com)!


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